


Such Things As Angels

by j_s_cavalcante



Category: due South
Genre: Christmas, Episode Tag, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-30
Updated: 2010-01-30
Packaged: 2017-10-06 20:11:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/j_s_cavalcante/pseuds/j_s_cavalcante
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fraser wants to know why Ray Kowalski seems perfectly happy to let Stella insult him in front of the whole bullpen...and why he is wearing Fraser's Stetson.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Such Things As Angels

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Ray K-Old 97s challenge, March 20, 2006, from a lyric prompt.

_  
And it’s all your fault, you spiked my malt  
You slipped a mickey in my heart.  
(Hands Off--Old 97s)_

 

Fraser had been standing over by the Christmas tree listening to one of the undercover narcotics officers sing “Angels We Have Heard on High” when he heard the decidedly un-angelic click-click-click of designer heels on the precinct’s linoleum. He glanced up rather surreptitiously. Sure enough, there was Assistant State’s Attorney Stella Kowalski, and there was Ray, right on cue, homing in on her like an eager pup expecting a treat.

Fraser bit back a sigh. The crumbs of Stella’s approval had been thin on the linoleum this week. By now Ray should know better than to anticipate them, but his recent behavior told Fraser that perhaps Ray _didn’t _know better. What was it he’d said the other day? That Christmas brought out the worst in people? Perhaps Ray had been speaking from personal experience. He’d been more needy around Stella in the past two days than Fraser had seen him be in the year and a half since the incident with Alderman Orsini. He’d thought Ray had made significant progress since then, but perhaps that conclusion was premature.

There were times when Fraser was not especially delighted to have excellent hearing, and now was one of them. “Forget it, Ray,” he heard Stella say rather sharply. “Have a merry little Christmas—somewhere else.”

In his peripheral vision, Fraser saw Ray taking a quick gulp from his punch glass and lowering his head. Fraser swallowed hard. Under his uniform he still bore bruises from his beating at the hands of Wilson Warfield’s hired thugs, but from where he stood, he thought Ray had been hit harder. Three scathing, public put-downs by Stella in one 48-hour period—how did Ray stand it?

Fraser had to wait until Lt. Welsh drifted back towards his office and his father took off to wherever dead Mounties went when they weren’t haunting living ones. Eventually Fraser made his way over to Ray.

He found him still wearing Fraser’s Stetson. It was a little too large for him, and Ray had it tilted jauntily on his head. The overall effect was incredibly charming, though Ray would probably squawk if Fraser dared to express that opinion.

Fraser had to lower his head and peer under the brim to see Ray’s eyes. He thought they twinkled back at him a little, though that was probably only his imagination. It wasn’t his imagination that they reflected the color of Ray’s olive vest. Ray had chameleon eyes that seemed to change color daily. They fit well with his mercurial personality, Fraser thought.

“Hey,” Ray said, and only then did Fraser notice that those brilliant eyes looked slightly sad. Not twinkling, after all.

_“Ray_,” he said, and he heard a reproving tone in his voice even though he didn’t think he’d intended it. He bit his lip. God, was he nearly as bad as Stella, speaking sharply to Ray, and with even less justification? He wished he could call the word back, say Ray’s name again with sympathy, with friendship, with…

_“Ray_, what?” Ray had heard it, obviously.

“I’m sorry, Ray. I, I didn’t mean…it’s just that you set yourself up for her to…”

“Knock me down? Yeah, well, I’m good at it. You gotta do what you’re good at, buddy.” He raised his punch glass as though toasting Fraser, and took a sip.

“Not if it’s something you don’t want to do, Ray.”

“We all get our kicks in different ways.”

“Ray. You can’t convince me you enjoy letting her put you down like that, especially in front of your colleagues.”

Ray smirked. “Nah. I don’t enjoy it. ’Course I don’t.”

“Then why would you do it?”

“It’s all your fault, Fraser.” But Ray’s rueful smirk had turned into a genuine smile, belying his words, and that made Fraser blink in confusion.

“My fault? How could it be my fault? I’ve done nothing but encourage you to let her go and move on, as she has repeatedly asked you to do, and as you have said you want to do.”

“Yeah, and it’s working.”

Fraser rubbed his left eyebrow with his thumb. “I’m afraid you’ve lost me.”

“I hope not.”

“Ray, either I have a large hole in my bag of marbles—which, I admit, may be the case—or you’re not making sense.”

Ray smiled his easy, mysterious smile, and Fraser felt his heart add a beat.

“Oh, I’m making sense. You just don’t have all the facts, yet.”

“Then would you please enlighten me?”

Again that cryptic smile. “I will, Frase. Just…not here.”

“All right, then…?”

Ray clapped him on the shoulder. “Get your coat. I’ll meet you in the parking lot.” Ray tipped the Stetson to him, but didn’t offer to give it back; he just found a place to set down his glass and headed across the bullpen toward his desk.

Fraser watched while Ray collected his coat and his keys, and it wasn’t till someone edged by him that he realized he was standing in the middle of the room staring at Ray. He shook himself and hastened to retrieve his own coat in time to follow Ray out of the precinct.

When he reached the parking lot, Ray was already standing next to the GTO, leaning against the passenger door with one hip cocked. His coat hung casually open, he still had the Stetson set at an angle on his head, and he was rattling something in one gloved hand.

“Here, Frase, catch.” Ray tossed something at him almost before he could see what it was.

Fraser’s reflexes were excellent, though. He opened his hand, half-surprised to see the keys to the GTO. “Ray?”

“You better drive,” Ray said.

“Ah, thank you, Ray. I take it this concession is in the spirit of the season?”

“Huh?” Ray said. “Nah, I don’t mind when you drive it, Frase.” He fixed his trademark cocky grin on his partner. “As long as we’re not trying to get somewhere in a hurry. But, uh. Right now, I just wanna be safe. So I’m designating you driver, if it’s okay with you.”

“I didn’t think you’d had any…alcoholic libation at the party.”

“I didn’t, either. Hm. But I think somebody must’ve spiked the punch.”

“Is that why you’re wearing my hat, Ray?”

Ray glanced upward. “Oh, that. Yeah, maybe.”

Fraser stepped over to him and lifted the brim just enough to observe Ray’s eyes closely. They weren’t olive anymore now that Ray’s coat hid the green of his vest. Now they had a more silvery sheen, like the winter sky. But they seemed otherwise normal.

“I tasted the punch, Ray,” he said after a minute. “It wasn’t tampered with.”

“Maybe the eggnog?” Ray said, sounding almost hopeful.

“Did you have any eggnog?”

“Oh. No, you’re right.”

“Then I fail to understand how you can be inebriated, Ray. If you haven’t had anything alcoholic to drink…”

“Get in, Frase,” Ray said. “Drive.” He made a quick restless motion. “Trust me?”

Oh. Fraser wasn’t about to call _that _into question again. Not when they’d made such progress as partners since the _Henry Allen._ Especially not with Ray standing there leaning against the passenger door of the GTO with a challenging light in his expressive eyes and—dear God—_Fraser’s hat on his head._

Fraser resisted the impulse to tug at his collar. He shouldn’t feel this warm in the pleasantly cold weather. “Yes, Ray. Yes, I do.” He went around and got into the driver’s seat and started the car.

They didn’t speak much during the short drive to Ray’s apartment. Fraser had realized that was where they’d have to go if Ray really felt he was too impaired to drive. It was all right. Fraser had walked the distance before, and the exercise would surely do him good. The temperature was hovering around zero degrees Centigrade; a little brisk, but not truly cold, not to Fraser, and soft, wet snow was falling very slowly, decorative but not troublesome. It wasn’t building up on the streets.

It would be a pleasant walk, he told himself. There might be carolers, as there had been the other evening when they’d gone back to Warfield's club together. Perhaps Fraser might even stop and join in.

First, though, he would see Ray home safely. _Tuck him in,_ he thought, and felt a blush rising under his collar. He was thankful it couldn’t be seen in the dark.

Next to him, Ray made a restless sound and shifted in the passenger seat. He started tapping one gloved hand against his knee, rhythmically, as though a song played in his head.

“Ray, are you…”

“I’m fine, Fraser.”

“But you said…”

“So?” Ray said it challengingly, but he didn’t look at Fraser, he just kept staring out the window and tapping his fingers on his leg.

“All right,” Fraser said, not wanting to turn the otherwise easy silence between them into an argument. _It’s Christmas Eve,_ he reminded himself, _and we’ll be parting too soon, and the Consulate will be dark and empty when I get there._

Diefenbaker wouldn’t even be there. Francesca was taking him back to the Vecchio household with her because the wolf wanted to visit Ante. It was his prerogative. He wasn’t Fraser’s wolf, after all, he was Fraser’s friend, and he had every right to visit whomever he chose.

So Fraser should certainly avail himself of the gift of these last few moments of Ray’s company tonight, even if they spent it in silence. Tomorrow they were both invited to the Vecchios’ house, which would be boisterous and bright, but tonight Fraser would have solitude. He’d read, perhaps, or go to sleep early and get some extra rest. He needed it to heal, anyway.

“Ah. We’ve arrived, safe and sound,” he said into the silence as he pulled the GTO smoothly into Ray’s parking space.

“Yeah.” Ray shook himself as though he’d been asleep, even though he hadn’t. “Okay, then.”

They got out of the car. Fraser locked it carefully and then tossed Ray the keys. “Thank you, Ray. I appreciate the privilege of driving such a fine automobile.”

Ray blinked and shook his head as though he was trying to clear it. “Right,” he said in the very same tone he used to call Fraser a freak. He motioned toward the building in that peculiar way he had, using his whole body instead of just nodding or flicking a thumb. “C’mon up.”

“Thank you, Ray, but I’m sure you have things to do…I’ll just…” he broke off when he noticed that Ray was squinting at him sharply the way he always did when Fraser started to prevaricate.

“You’ll _just_. Hmph.”

“Sarcasm, Ray?”

“When it’s called for, Fraser.” Ray’s accent was at its most nasal. “Jeez. You’ll walk home in the dark and cold and spend Christmas Eve alone, you were gonna say?”

“Well, yes, Ray, but the darkness and cold are hardly problematical for a person raised in the Arctic, and the Consulate will be cozy, and…”

“Frase?”

“Yes, Ray?”

“I’m, uh, still feeling kinda…and I don’t wanna…” he glanced up at the third-floor windows.

“Oh. All right, then.” Fraser had still seen no sign of drunkenness in Ray, but if Ray said he felt unsteady, then Fraser had a responsibility to see him safely to his apartment. They went in and started up the stairs.

Ray stopped on the fifth step, not unsteadily in the least, and turned back toward Fraser. “Besides, don’t you wanna help me trim the tree?”

Fraser remembered that Ray had asked Stella a version of that question the previous evening. He also remembered her answer, which had been rude in the extreme. “You didn’t do it yet?”

Ray shrugged, his shoulders a bit more hunched than usual. “Not worth doing alone.”

It wasn’t till that moment that Fraser came out of his self-pitying funk and realized that Ray had no other plans for Christmas Eve, either. His throat tightened at the thought that such a bright, loving person wouldn’t have an entire community of friends who would want him with them at this time of year.

Well, correction: Stella had made it abundantly clear that she didn’t want Ray’s company, and his parents weren’t in town, having retreated to Arizona as soon as the weather had turned cold. Fraser wasn’t sure, but he thought that none of Ray’s other friends knew he was undercover as Ray Vecchio; therefore, Ray couldn’t see them until he was, so to speak, himself again.

Fraser recalled Ray’s childlike enthusiasm at the mall and even in the station tonight, and realized that it wouldn’t have been Ray’s choice to be alone tonight, but rather had to be a circumstance forced on him by the requirements of his undercover assignment.

Fraser felt himself rubbing his left eyebrow again, angry at himself. He should have realized. It was one thing for him to hide in the Consulate and sulk over never having had a proper Christmas once in 38 years, but abandoning Ray to a similarly depressing evening was not the act of a caring partner and friend. “Do you still have eggnog?” he asked quietly.

Ray smiled. “Got the ingredients. I can make some fresh.”

“That sounds…that sounds lovely, Ray. Thank you.”

“Thank _you_, buddy.” Ray’s arm was suddenly around Fraser’s shoulders, pulling Fraser so close that Ray’s hair—soft, it was surprisingly soft—tickled Fraser’s neck. He felt a flush rise up again from under his red serge collar.

Fraser looked down, his mouth working for a second, as though it were trying to say something in return without consulting him first, though he had no idea what it wanted to blurt. He settled for “Don’t mention it,” and Ray released Fraser a little awkwardly. They went up the rest of the way in silence.

***

  
Once inside, Ray took off his coat and his holster and hung them up, doffing the Stetson last and going around to the breakfast bar to lay it there very carefully in the spot where Fraser typically placed it. Ray moved with his usual loose-hipped grace, still giving no sign of any impairment. “Decorations in the box over there,” he told Fraser, tilting his chin toward the living-room area. “Eggnog coming right up.”

Fraser found the box of decorations and knelt down to unpack it next to the tree. The fragrant little spruce, only three feet tall, sat on the coffee table in the center of the living room, alive and apparently content in its wooden planter. Fraser tried to busy himself with unwrapping what turned out to be a small collection of glass ornaments and one short string of miniature lights. He tried, that is, but he failed, and most of the ornaments remained in their box, because he couldn’t keep himself from glancing repeatedly into the kitchen until glancing became more like gazing, and gazing took on some of the characteristics of staring. In truth, Fraser was having trouble looking away. Ray was standing there at the counter, facing him, but focused completely on cracking eggs and whisking and pouring. And as he stood there, the overhead light gilded his hair and his eyelashes and his long fingers so brilliantly that Fraser thought of angels and wondered if they were real.

Eventually, Ray turned to toss bowls and whisks into the sink behind him, and Fraser realized with a start that he hadn’t got anything done. He fumbled with the tissue paper in his hand, but it was too late: Ray was emerging from behind the bar bearing two glasses brimming with thick white froth. He stooped to hand one to Fraser, who was still kneeling on the rug. Fraser took the offered glass, wondering if he looked as stupefied as he felt, and sniffed at it. “You didn’t…?”

“Didn’t spike it, Frase. It’s pure as midnight Mass.”

“And the brown speckles on top?”

“Nutmeg. Sorry, I was fresh out of brown lichen and dust.”

“Oh.” Fraser took a sip, feeling his tongue curl in delight. “Cream and egg white and a touch of vanilla.”

“Yup. Whipped separately and folded in gently. My mom’s recipe. Good?”

“It’s delicious. Thank you.”

Ray squatted down next to him and raised his glass in a toast. “To…um. Partnership,” he said quietly.

When it went soft like that, Ray’s voice threatened to undo Fraser’s composure. He coughed a little and raised his glass to touch Ray’s. “To partnership. And to friendship.”

“Yeah.” Ray drank, coming up with a white moustache. He licked it off his upper lip slowly and thoroughly while Fraser tried valiantly not to choke.

“A little too rich for you there, buddy?”

“Ah, no. Of course not, Ray. It’s exquisite.”

That earned Fraser another radiant smile from his friend, and at the sight, he felt warmth spreading through his midsection as though the eggnog did indeed contain brandy or rum, which he knew it didn’t.

Ray’s eyes, now of indeterminate color in the soft light, were searching his. “C’mon, have a seat up here. I know you’re still sore.” He patted the sofa. “The tree can wait. It’s not like it’s gonna take us long to fix up that little guy.”

“Oh. No, you’re quite right.” Fraser eased up and settled onto the sofa, and Ray folded his lanky frame in next to him.

“How do you feel?” Fraser asked, mostly to have something to say so that he wouldn’t stare quite so hard at Ray’s tongue, which flicked out to lick more froth off the stubble on Ray’s upper lip.

“Good, Frase. I feel good. You?”

“Just fine, Ray. I was more wondering why you thought you felt tipsy, earlier. Because, you see, up north, as part of my regular duties, I was often required to administer sobriety tests to erratic drivers, and every task I’ve witnessed you perform tonight required at least as much coordination, if not more.”

“True,” Ray allowed. “You got a point?”

“You clearly weren’t too impaired to drive,” Fraser said.

“You complaining? Last I heard you enjoyed it.”

“Well, yes, I did, but you told me…”

“I never said I was impaired.”

Fraser blinked. He mentally replayed their conversation in the parking lot. “Oh. So you didn’t. But you clearly intended for me to draw that conclusion.”

Ray smiled. “And you call yourself a poker player.”

“I do nothing of the sort.”

“Well everyone at the 2-7 who’s ever played with you calls you a card sharp. Lucky for us you don’t play for real money. I still owe you about a roomful of air.”

“Two rooms full,” Fraser corrected.

“Well, I’ll make a downpayment tonight,” Ray said, winking, and swooshed a handful of air down in front of Fraser, grazing his knee with his fist.

Startled, Fraser cleared his throat. “Why exactly did you maneuver me into driving, Ray?

“So you wouldn’t make me drop you off at the Consulate where you could go sit alone on Christmas Eve.” He sipped his eggnog and again had to lick the cream off his upper lip. Fraser thought he might very well pass out if he was forced to watch that procedure too many times.

Ray went on, “You had to come here first, and once we were here, I knew I had a good shot at getting you to come up.”

“I see.”

“Now you answer one,” Ray said. “Why’d you agree to it?”

“For the same reason,” Fraser admitted. “I didn’t want _you _sitting alone on Christmas Eve. Once I stopped to consider it, I realized that the one friend you’d been permitted to maintain contact with, Stella, had rejected your overtures three times in the past two days. Forgive me, Ray. I must admit I’d spent so much time this week feeling sorry for myself that it simply never occurred to me that except for me—and your fellow officers at the 2-7, who are your colleagues, but not actual _friends_—you were virtually alone undercover.”

Ray shrugged. “No big deal; I agreed to it. Anyway, that’s why they pay me the extra bucks. It’s not forever.”

Nor was Fraser in Chicago forever, he thought; eventually his superiors would relent and recall him to Canada. The thought saddened him, and that was a surprise. It had always been a comfort before. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Ray, may I ask…well, I expect it’s a personal question.”

“I’m an open book, Fraser. To my partner, anyway.”

“Tonight when I asked why you expose yourself unnecessarily to Stella’s disparaging comments, you gave me a rather flip answer. And then you said you’d explain later. Is it ‘later’ now?”

“Yeah. Yeah, it is. Hang on.” Ray set his glass down on the end table next to the sofa and leaned back, stretching his long legs out in front of him, and working the heel of one boot off with the toe of the other. He repeated the procedure with the other boot and then kicked them both off with a satisfied sigh. “Good. Okay. So, as I recall, I said it was your fault.”

“Yes.”

Ray shrugged. “Well, see, that stuff with Stella, it’s not real anymore.”

“I don’t follow you.”

Ray turned his head, cocking it to the side a little to catch Fraser’s eye. Fraser looked up and met his gaze, noticing that Ray’s eyes were now more like hazel, with a touch of gold around the wide, dark pupils. “I used to act like that with her for real, so it don’t look different to the other cops; it looks like Ray-as-usual. But I’m fakin’ it now. It’s a decoy. And _that _is because of you.”

“I don’t see how.”

Ray grinned. “Freak. Don’t you get it? It’s so I can wear your hat and take you home in front of the whole precinct and everybody thinks I’m crying in my eggnog over Stella and you’re consoling me like a best friend should.” He raised his hand, pointing with his index finger and his little finger at the same time, the way he often did to make a particularly strong point. “And not one person will look at the two of us and think anything hinky is going on.”

“Hinky?”

“You know, _untoward_.”

“Oh. _Oh_.” Fraser drew a sharp breath. “You mean, they would otherwise…?”

“You just crawl out from under an igloo yesterday?” Ray held up a hand. “Don’t answer that. ’Cause I know you did, or the next closest thing.”

“As you say,” Fraser said, and waited for the explanation.

“Fraser. I was _wearing your hat_ at the precinct.”

“I know. It was most fetching on you.”

“Fetching. Yeah. I’ll have to wear it with my poncho sometime.” He chuckled.

Fraser was beginning to suspect he knew where this conversation was going, but he wasn’t sanguine enough to skip Ray’s explanation. If he said too much and he was wrong, he might just die, he thought. Or at least he’d want to, for a time.

“I had the hat on, Frase, and you didn’t say, ‘I’m out of uniform, Ray,’ or ‘Would you kindly give me back my hat, Ray?’ You just let me wear it.”

Fraser nodded.

“Hats are _personal_, Fraser. Which means everybody knows we’re buddies, which, I realize they already knew that, but it also means they might start thinking about how we’re more than buddies. ’Cause what guy-buddies do stuff like wear each other’s hats?”

“Well, we do, Ray. You and I.”

“Nobody else does.”

“They might.”

“Nah. Doesn’t happen. Plus in our case, there’s also the touching and the getting in each other’s personal space all the time. And the holding-hands thing, Frase, which happened, um, day before yesterday in the car after, you know.”

“After Warfield. Yes.”

“Which, it’s not the first time we ever did that.”

“No, it isn’t.” Nor had it been the second, or the third, or….

“And so maybe the whole precinct doesn’t know about most of that, but they do know about the talking in the men’s room.”

“Come now, Ray, everyone at the 2-7 talks in the men’s room. At least, the men.”

“In the same _stall?” _

“Uh, well, no. You do have a point there.”

“I know.”

Fraser cleared his throat. “We’re partners, Ray. Best friends. Our ‘duet’ as you so colorfully put it, is working well. What would you suggest we change?”

“We ought to have more circumstantial…no, that’s not it. Circumspecial, um…circum…behavior. Like more under the radar.”

“Circumspect?

“Yeah, that’s it.”

“Meaning discreet?”

“Right again. We gotta be more discreet.”

“All right.”

“But—” Ray added, jabbing the air with both forefingers alternately in his idiosyncratic rhythm. “But, see, if we stopped all that stuff cold, not only would it probably cramp our style, but it would be like waving a lavender flag in front of their noses. Everybody’d notice. So instead…the decoy. I make a few hangdog faces at Stella, she slaps me down, we’re good for another week. And if I get slapped down three times in one week like I did this week, it’s like a special dispass—dispen—dispensation.”

Fraser cleared his throat. Twice. “A dispensation to do, ah, what exactly?”

Ray smiled. Ray leaned. He didn’t have to lean far, because the couch was small, and when they were sitting side by side on it, as they were now, they were nearly touching as it was. “Anything we want to,” Ray said, and there was laughter in his voice. He leaned some more and didn’t stop until he was so close that Fraser would have been able to lick eggnog off his upper lip.

“Ray? Are you unable to…?”

“Sh,” Ray said conspiratorially. “I’m very able, Fraser. But I must’ve got slipped a mickey, because I wouldn’t normally have the guts to do _this_.” He closed the last couple of centimeters between them and kissed Fraser on the mouth.

“Oh, dear God,” Fraser said when Ray’s lips left his. He couldn’t remember having moved his hands, but he obviously had, because they were suddenly gripping both of Ray’s upper arms firmly.

Ray moved back just far enough to peer closely at him, but didn’t appear unusually concerned. “Too much? Not your cup of bark tea? Tell me, Frase.”

“No, quite the opposite.” Fraser swallowed. “Are you…do you…?” he couldn’t finish, couldn’t ask. He made himself release Ray’s arms.

“I’m the guy who holds your hand in alleys,” Ray said. “I’m the guy who wears your hat. You get that? I wore it in front of Stella tonight.”

“Oh. So you did. Was it hard to do?”

“Not in the least,” Ray said, and he slid his hand over until his fingertips touched the back of Fraser’s hand. “You see what’s been happening to us?”

Fraser nodded and turned his hand over so that Ray’s slid naturally into his with the fingers interlaced. “If we’re more circumspect, Ray, can we…”

“I think we could get away with plenty,” Ray said reasonably. “Long as I work it with The Stella every once in a while.”

“And tonight with the ‘special dispensation’—?

“—Not to mention my buzz on—”

“—Yes, your curious state of sober inebriation—”

“—I figure anything goes. Anything you’re up for, that is.” His eyes were the color of ocean water, Fraser thought, the most serene, eternal blue-green on earth. _Oh, Ray— _

And that was enough speech, because, after all, they were men, and they were not comfortable with discussing feelings in so many words, and they’d never needed to, anyway.

Fraser pulled Ray close and—dear heaven—found him just as thrilling to hold as he was to look at: Ray was lean and strong and the spikes of his hair were soft against Fraser’s cheek. Ray’s cheek was rough with stubble against Fraser’s lips, and Ray’s hands, caught up in both of Fraser’s, were callused and dry and warm, and they squeezed his back firmly, wordlessly telling Fraser everything he needed to know.

Fraser ducked his head and kissed Ray again, gently, on the lips, but didn’t linger there. He moved on to seek out all of the places where Ray’s inner heat came to the surface, and kissed him in each of those places. Ray’s pulse throbbed under his skin like tiny beating wings at his temples, his throat, in the hollows beneath his ears, and on his wrists and the base of each finger. Fraser slid Ray’s shirtsleeves up to reach the insides of his elbows, making him squirm; he pushed apart the collars of Ray’s shirt to reach the deep hollow of his throat and the notch of his collarbones.

He must have sought lower without undoing buttons, because suddenly Ray made an impatient sound and leaned back and undid the buttons himself, then stripped off his vest, shirt, and undershirt in one fluid motion. With this greater landscape of Ray bared to his searching lips and tongue, Fraser found himself even less inclined to speak and more to simply move, simply touch, as he had been longing to do. Ray would tell him if he started to do anything Ray didn’t want. Ray would let him know what felt good, too. Fraser raised both his hands to Ray’s chest and spread his fingers wide over Ray’s broad, sprung ribcage and his lean, hard musculature—_to feel Ray, dear God, to touch him like this! _

Ray leaned back with a little moan of surprise and Fraser hitched himself up to straddle him on the couch, coming up on his haunches and leaning over to touch Ray’s flat brown nipples with his lips and then his tongue.

“God, Fraser—” Ray breathed, and his long fingers came up to frame Fraser’s face and urge him up, up, for another kiss. This time, Fraser opened his mouth against Ray’s, and Ray’s tongue took the invitation, sliding in to press against Fraser’s, velvety and wet and soft, and redolent of nutmeg and vanilla and cream.

Under the layers of blue serge and red, Fraser went instantaneously, achingly hard, and, _oh,_ that was Ray’s thigh, wasn’t it, shoving up against his backside and wedging their lower bodies tightly together? And oh, dear Lord, there, just under Fraser’s left thigh, that long, firm hardness, that was _Ray’s erection, _that was Ray wanting him, that was Ray pushing up against him a little as though he couldn’t help himself. Fraser thought that if he didn’t die right now of sheer delight, he just might be capable of kissing Ray forever.

Eventually, though, even a man with excess lung capacity had to come up for air, and when he did, Fraser found his limbs were cramped, and he realized Ray must feel worse, with his long legs folded up and half-trapped under Fraser on the too-short couch.

“Floor,” Ray said, and they moved as one, pulling cushions down with them to the rug and shoving the coffee table out of the way just carefully enough not to topple the little tree.

Fraser skimmed his fingers down to the waistband of Ray’s jeans, let them hover above the delicious heat coming off Ray’s body, and looked a question at his partner. Ray immediately nodded assent, but when Fraser flicked the top button open, Ray stopped him with a hand on his arm. “Wait, look—we’re messing up The Uniform. You better—”

Fraser didn’t care a whit about the uniform at the moment, but it was an impediment, certainly, to what he must have: Ray’s skin against his,_ now._ He fumbled the lanyard loose and tore at the collar, while Ray unfastened the Sam Browne with much more nimble fingers.

“Never thought I’d actually be glad I wore The Uniform once,” Ray murmured, pulling the belt free and tossing it somewhere. He glanced down. “Boots off first, right?”

Fraser froze, lifting off Ray, and stared at him for a moment, feeling a dark blush rise in his face and neck. He realized he was being silly; he’d been trying to get Ray out of his pants, hadn’t he? But the knowledge that Ray obviously wanted Fraser out of his made the breath catch in his chest for a moment. Dear God, Ray wanted to—

Of course he did. _Anything we want,_ he’d said._ I’m the guy who wears your hat, _he’d said.

Ray’s eyes were bright. He lifted one long forefinger to Fraser’s cheek to chase the blush down the tendons of Fraser’s neck, down between the two edges of the red serge collar and onto his chest, separating the fabric easily as he went. Fraser’s skin tingled where Ray touched him, and he was nearly too distracted to fight open the Velcro and the brass buttons. He popped one off in his haste to open the garment for more of Ray’s touch. “C’mon, get this off,” Ray said, and his impatient tone gave Fraser the strength to obey, divesting himself of tunic, braces, and Henley in record time.

“God, Fraser…” Ray’s smile had the incandescent beauty of an ice field in full moonlight.

“Yeah,” Fraser breathed, nodding. He felt the same way. His eyes didn’t leave Ray’s for a second as he untied his boots and the lower legs of his jodhpurs. He kicked the boots free and reached for Ray.

Ray’s arms came around him and Fraser wrapped his around Ray, and they rolled over once, twice. Ray ended up on top, looking down into his eyes, and Fraser couldn’t help himself, his unruly imagination was loosed now: Ray was a supernatural creature, stooping on gold-threaded wings to catch Fraser in midair and bear him up into the sky. Then Fraser breathed, and Ray was simply a man again, but he was _the one, _partner, friend, companion—

Fraser put a shaking hand into Ray’s hair. “Ray.” His eyes filled and his breath caught in a sob. Ray’s lips fastened on Fraser’s chin, left a wet kiss there. “I never made anyone cry before,” Ray said, “well, I mean, not from—”

“Joy,” Fraser finished for him.

“Yeah. I…”

“Me, too,” Fraser said.

Ray ducked his head to the juncture of Fraser’s neck and shoulder and applied his teeth and tongue and lips there until Fraser bucked and squirmed. He had to have his jodhpurs off now, he had to be able to rub up against Ray, or he’d die.

But Ray was already ahead of him, lifting up just enough to pop two more buttons on his jeans and shove them down, wriggling out of them and his knit boxers in seconds. Then he leaned up a little more and stripped Fraser’s jodhpurs and boxers off him, too, and they were naked on the floor together, at last.

Ray lowered his body down over Fraser’s again. The feel of all that hot, smooth skin, and Ray’s scent, and Ray’s taste, salt and sweet to Fraser’s searching tongue, all of it nearly put Fraser over the edge right there. He struggled to hold on.

“Oh, Frase,” Ray breathed in his ear, his voice gone soft but cracking a little on Fraser’s name. “God. You’re.”

“You are,” Fraser said, knowing the words made no sense, and yet they understood each other here as perfectly as they did on the job, when a simple gesture or a glance could speak a hundred words.

“I get it, yeah, I get it,” Ray murmured as he snugged his groin up against Fraser’s and oh, _God,_ that was Ray’s penis against Fraser right _there._ Fraser heard a groan and realized he’d uttered it. Ray’s strong, callused hand closed around him then, and stroked, flooding his senses; he pushed Ray up just enough so that he could look down between their bodies; he had to see…

There was the purpled head of his penis emerging from the circle of Ray’s fingers, and then disappearing, pulling back under the cuff of foreskin, the loose skin moving deliciously over the sensitive head, and there was Ray’s penis, right next to his, long and hard and deep, deep pink, leaking clear fluid onto the hollow of Fraser’s hip. Heat and sweat and musk rose up from the space between them, making Fraser’s mouth water. He slipped his hand down into that narrow space to grasp Ray’s penis. How beautiful to be permitted to touch this strong yet tender part of Ray, this part of Ray that could give so much pleasure. He smoothed his thumb over the velvety, naked head, spreading the pre-ejaculate there, and pressed Ray’s penis down gently into the hollow of his hip. _Yes, yes, do this… _

Ray did; he thrust down hard against Fraser, crying out as he did, “Oh, God, Fraser, yes…yes, that’s perfect, that is—”

Fraser looked back up, and there were Ray’s eyes, wide and dark and yet filled with light, glancing down at the miracle of their bodies together and then back up at Fraser’s face, enjoying whatever expression he saw there. Fraser didn’t know if it was wonder or stupor, but it clearly pleased Ray, who dropped his head down to Fraser’s face to cover it with soft kisses. Then Ray slid down even further to press the side of his face tightly to Fraser’s, the line of his jaw hard against Fraser’s cheek, their ears touching, Ray’s stubbly cheek scratching Fraser’s smooth one. Ray’s hand tightened on Fraser’s penis; Ray thrust down again, and Fraser heaved up, and they quickly found a rhythm together that suited both. They moved together as one. Ray’s soft cries in Fraser’s ear were like music; Fraser didn’t need angels singing on high if he could have this, this beauty that Ray was giving him freely and joyfully because he was the guy who wore Fraser’s hat.

Ray lifted his head suddenly, as though startled, and his face contorted. “Oh, God, Frase!” he cried; his neck arched back, his mouth opened, his eyes closed. He seemed caught there in a suspended moment, while Fraser could only watch, spellbound, caught in the moment with Ray…and then it was past. Movement resumed. Ray’s penis throbbed in his hand; wet heat spurted between Fraser’s fingers and onto his hip and belly. Ray drew breath at last, and though he still had his head tilted back, exposing the long, graceful line of his throat, his expression gradually relaxed into sheer pleasure and the dimples came up in his face.

Still half caught in the spell of that beauty, Fraser thrust up hard one more time against Ray’s firm belly and surrendered also. Pleasure flooded him; his ejaculate spilled all over his belly and Ray’s hand, and wetted Ray’s belly, which pressed his from above. Then Ray brought his mouth down on his once more and kissed him absolutely breathless.

***

  
“Ray,” Fraser said much later, as he settled his shoulder more comfortably under Ray’s head and stroked his fingers through the soft upright strands of Ray’s hair. “You didn’t honestly think the punch was spiked, did you?”

“Nah, Frase, I guess not.” He rolled his head sleepily against Fraser’s shoulder and settled back against him. They’d got up eventually for a quick cleanup, and for good measure they’d shoved the coffee table with the tree still on it all the way back against the television. They’d even managed to wind some lights clumsily around the little tree and plug them in. Then they’d tossed a big quilt on the rug and lain down there to enjoy the colored lights, but mostly to enjoy being together.

It was, Fraser had to admit, much nicer than holding Ray’s hand in an alley for a couple of minutes, and there would be even nicer things to come. But for the moment, he just wanted to savor the unexpected and beautiful gift of being permitted to touch Ray in acknowledged—if not spoken in so many words—love.

“Why did you imply that you were tipsy?” he asked lazily, curious, but not urgent about it. Ray would tell him anything he really needed to know.

Ray smiled, and kissed his neck just under his ear. “I said how I _felt,_ Fraser. Benton-buddy. Drunk on you. Which, now—” he kissed just behind Fraser’s ear, “—now I’m totally addicted.”

“Well, those weren’t your exact words, Ray.”

“You’re niggling,” Ray said, but he said it with a smile. “I didn’t want to scare you off before I had a chance to make a case for…us. And I did feel just crazy enough tonight to finally do it.”

“You made a case for your ‘decoy’ act, Ray. I don’t recall any other case being made.”

“No? What about the one I didn’t make with words?” Ray wiggled his hips just a little, his backside rubbing rather provocatively against Fraser’s front side.

“Oh, well. I concede that point.”

“Yeah, well, I got something else for you to concede, too. See, I did get slipped a mickey. Just not in my punch.”

“Oh?” Fraser had begun to understand that he needed to stop analyzing everything Ray said at the moment he said it. Sometimes it was more prudent to wait for further information. In fact, often it was more prudent, because Ray really wasn’t the cryptic type at heart, despite the loving deception he’d pulled off tonight. Ray was open, he was honest, he wore his generous heart on his sleeve, as the saying went. He’d never leave Fraser in the dark for long.

“So who was the perpetrator?” Fraser said, taking the bait.

“You, Frase. You slipped a mickey in my heart.”

Fraser suddenly found himself swallowing around a very large constriction in his throat. “Is that what it is?” he mused, almost to himself.

“What _what_ is?” Ray raised his head and looked at him closely, and Fraser turned just enough to gaze back into his friend’s beautiful eyes, which now appeared true, true blue. He found Ray’s hand and pulled it up to his chest, spreading the long fingers with his and pressing them over the center of his chest so Ray could feel the deep, steady beat.

“That,” Fraser said.

Ray’s whole face lit up, and he leaned up over Fraser to kiss him again, and now Fraser was positive: there were, after all, such things as angels.

End


End file.
